


Across The Stars

by staroamer



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Badass Lance, Betrayal, Falling In Love, Fate & Destiny, Klance endgame, M/M, Pirate Lance (Voltron), Romance, Slow Burn, Space Pirates, Space War, backstories will be told as the story continues, morally gray characters, pirate lotor, the galra are still a thing but this is not the same universe as voltron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 23:46:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17949464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staroamer/pseuds/staroamer
Summary: Gunfire rains down on open space, slamming into star fighters and star cruisers, the two infinitely different but overwhelmingly violent when pitted on opposite sides. Bodies are strewn to the cosmos, lost to the explosions and the lights, colors creating a dizzying array.In the midst of it all, laughing and shouting and slamming his ship into gear, is a boy who should probably be dead.





	Across The Stars

 

* * *

 

 

_“In all our searching, the only thing we've found that makes the emptiness bearable is each other.”_

\- Carl Sagan

 

* * *

 

Gunfire rains down on open space, slamming into Star Fighters and Star Cruisers, the two infinitely different but overwhelmingly violent when pitted on opposite sides. Bodies are strewn to the cosmos, lost to the explosions and the lights, colors creating a dizzying array.

In the midst of it all, laughing and shouting and slamming his ship into gear, is a boy who should probably be dead.

Lance Arvis flips his Star Fighter and feels his stomach enter zero gravity before he rights himself again, grin wide as he sends a barrage of bullets into the enemy. The Alliance soldier is blown to bits and once, when Lance first began this life, he may have felt bad. But he can’t remember that now. All he knows is this: to win you gotta fight and sometimes when you fight, people gotta die.

“Quit fuckin’ around Lancey-boy!” Orzaak shouts in his ear-comm, voice gruff.

“Quit bein’ a coward and maybe I will.” Lance spits back, glancing at the alien through the side shield.

Orzaak speeds forward and sweeps his fire into the ships threatening their escape and for all intents and purposes, Lance is impressed. He grins and follows suit, keeping a weathered eye on the crew still gathering supplies from the docked cargo ship. Any minute now his captain will send the signal to return; to end this fight and fly away at warp speed.

Until then, he flies on.

“Take ‘em around the bow.” Lance orders, making sure his entire team can hear him.

On his console, the five of them nod and set course, gathering equal strength to take on the final line of Star Cruisers. Lance takes the front, grin falling to show a face set in fierce determination, blue eyes shining like crystal in the dark. He sees the Star Cruisers flying closer, readying their own guns and lasers to take them down.

But, you see, Lance is always faster.

“Fire.” He orders, calmer than he's been in hours.

His team shoots around him with perfect accuracy. It’s deadly and it’s brutal but it is necessary, he tells himself. To hit hard on both sides, whether it be the Alliance or the Empire, is to fight for the little people. The people like him, who never stood a chance in a war like this.

Of course, he hadn’t always been this way.

Like everyone else, he has his origins.

And they begin like this:

 *** 

_Lance isn’t supposed to be in the Wastes._

_His hoverbike sends wafts of heat to the dirt, kicking up rock and red clay, coating his boots and pants in colors like blood. The sky is overcast and his head hurts like hell but he refuses to let that stop him, not when he’s only a few Coin away from his next meal. He skirts his bike over useless junk, pieces of metal that won’t sell for even a fraction of what he knows waits further out. Behind him, the city of NeoCal shines in bright neon. The setting sun does little to rival the artificial light and he loathes it, wishing said sun wasn’t currently dying with each passing hour._

_Flickering pixelated ads dance on every corner, beams shooting into the sky from virtual concerts, the flashing of police crafts reflecting off of grime and graffiti. Gangs create havoc on bikes built from stolen mech and clubs are the current rage, most filled with drinks that leave you suspended in your own brain._

_Lance flexes his hand on his bike and kicks up the speed, hair whipping around his face. The further he gets from the city the better. This drive always gives him time to let his mind go blank, to stop the thoughts of missed chances and bad luck; all of which sums up the totality of his eighteen years of life so far._

_Behind him, a huge bridge extends from the city to these outer fields, where distant garbage heaps tower. He avoids looking at them and instead sets his sights on the dome of rock ahead, where his findings from only several days ago had sent his heart racing. The stone has traces of old life, bits and pieces of fossil embedded and stuck. He wonders if this land had been beautiful when it was an ocean. He can hardly imagine it, looking at the dusty horizon that stretches out endlessly in front of him._

_His bike makes it to the rock in no time and he skids to a stop, boot finding the ground in a spray of dirt and clay. Once his engine is off, all is quiet. The bustle of the city is a distant thing, horns and shouts echoing but muted. Easy enough to ignore._

_Lance sighs and eyes the land surrounding the rock, eyes zeroing in on the scrap of metal he’d dug into the ground to help guide his way. He pulls it free and shifts a small boulder to the right with a grunt, the shift crunching against the dry ground._

_And there it is._

_Lifting it high, he eyes the old gun and debates its price. Years of coming to the Wastes has trained him for finding_ anything _that could be worth_ something _. His days were an endless drone of struggle, of fighting to survive in a city that couldn’t care less if kids like him died. He’d drag scrap for miles until he could pass beneath the bridge, trying to make it to the trading centers before they closed._

_Smirking, he lowers the gun to place it inside of the large bag strapped to the back of his motor bike. It’s a B-09 Reflux, the weapon powerful at its time of creating, mostly used in helping transfer laser fire to lethal bullets. It’ll sell for a hell of a price. He zips up his bag and moves to straddle his bike, placing his hand on his goggles to pull them back over his eyes. Only he stops when a new sound reaches him, making him freeze from where he’d almost flicked the engine to life._

_A sonic boom shakes the ground, sending waves of wind and dust into the air. Turning fast, Lance’s sight is stolen to the sky, where a sharp burst of light nearly blinds him. Soon after, however, there  is no mistaking the shape that breaks through the murky atmosphere, thick with pollution._

_For a fleeting moment, Lance thinks a new war is about to break out on the surface of his planet. He fears he’ll be in the midst of it, shot down as another casualty in a war he has no business being in at all. But as he brings a hand to his forehead in hopes of lessening the glare, he doesn’t see any other vessel following that of the huge war ship. There are no explosions, no bullets or screams; no fallen bodies, the likes of which still haunt his dreams. There is only the ginormous ship lowering itself to the ground, rumbling and releasing wave after wave of heat._

_Though he is usually quick on his feet, skilled in the art of running away from shitty situations, he finds that he can’t move a muscle now. All he can do is gulp as the ship draws closer, until it is landing and resting right in front of him. Lance’s bike falls from its peg but he doesn’t even move to lift it, not bothering to worry about the damage it may have caused to the fragile motor._

_The ship hums and groans, expanding for miles in either direction, blocking out the sun completely with its height. If there are lights inside, Lance can’t see them. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s watched beings from other planets enter the atmosphere, though most arrive to experience the sickly life of the city. But this is on another level. This is gargantuan, totally out of place and exceptionally intimidating._

_Lance could say the same about the boy that soon stands before him. The ramp to the ship lowers and steam escapes from unseen pipes, releasing gasses and cooling agents to keep the ship from overheating. Lance looks up at the figure ahead, noticing first that they aren’t dressed for a simple excursion or vacation. The boy looks as if he’s just been through the trials of hell, his armor damaged, skin bloody, face covered in ash and soot._

_Walking forward, Lance quickly notices the blaster at his hip and the sword on his back, his silver hair trimmed to the width of his shoulders. He spots Lance as the dust settles, eyes shining bright. His smile is victorious and he holds out a hand, as if beckoning Lance to join him._

_Though before Lance can move, the strangers eyes are rolling back in his head. He falls without grace, head lolling on the ramp, blood oozing from a wound on his abdomen._

_And Lance, scared and confused as he is, does the only thing he can do._

_He runs forward, quickly gathering the fallen boy into his arms._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Leaving the hangar bay, Lance holds his helmet beneath a strong arm. His skin is damp with perspiration but he doesn’t wipe at it, knowing there’s no use when a party is to be had so soon. Already, as he makes his way to the upper levels of the Arcadia, he can hear the music and shouts, the clinking of glasses and the laughter. He walks into the main foyer and grins at the sight that greets him, finding his brothers and sisters already in their celebration. They drink and toast to the new cargo in their holds. They dance knowing they took no casualties. They chant many names, though one in particular is louder and more numerous than the rest.

“Lotor.” Lance greets, coming to stand beside the captain.

The man turns from the view of the stars, long silver hair braided against his back. He finds Lance’s eye immediately and wastes no time drawing him in for a hug, both sharing comfort in the fact that they are alive. Though it seems intimate, the crew is used to these affections. More so than anyone else, Lotor and Lance are the closest. They are what started all of this. They are what leads the crew on, into victory.

Leaning away, Lotor places his hands on Lance’s shoulders, violet face flushed as he lets a glass dangle from his fingertips. There is Branud on his breath, the drink similar to Lance’s remembrance of alcohol. Only it’s lighter, like fizzy water without the shitty taste.

“You fought well.” Lotor says, just as he always does when Lance returns from battle.

Lance grins and takes the drink from Lotor’s hand before he can spill it all over himself, tipping his head back to drink it down in two large gulps. When he’s done, he tosses the glass back, glad to see Lotor in such high spirits. Usually, he doesn’t partake in the parties. He’ll watch and smile at his crew, looking proud and fond. But rarely does he drink with them. Rarely does he let anyone other than Lance see him after the throes of battle. In those times, he is usually still brimming with viciousness. He is still on edge, claws at the ready to tear at guts.

“Someone’s happy.” Lance raises a brow and leans against the large window, the stars at his back. He looks up at Lotor, appreciating the way his smile is relaxed instead of the tense scowl it's been for days.

Lotor takes a step closer to be heard over the noise, his voice deep but slurred. “There’s enough cargo to meet the expectations of Lismsak.”

Yeah, Lance supposes that’s reason enough to celebrate. The huge planet on the outskirts of the Trunar system has been without food and quickly deplenishing water sources for almost five months now. Their children are starving and their animals are dying, the whole ecosystem collapsing after the invasion of the Galra and the battle that the Alliance brought soon after. Now that the newest Alliance cargo ship has been stolen of their goods they could _finally_ bring them much needed relief.

Pirates they may be, but first and foremost they are the lost children of the universe. They are the outcasts, the survivors. Most of all, they are angry and ripe with revenge. Where the war brings only suffering and chaos, it is their job to return the favor and make lives better for those left behind.

Lance laughs at a joke Lotor hiccups through and leads him to one of the many couches settled around the room, his hair going up in a puff when the man finally lets his legs rest. People congratulate their captain on the victory and he returns the compliments, cheeks stained a pretty lavender. Lance sits next to him and leans on him just a bit, always one to enjoy constant touch.

Sim'rasi, a willowy girl from the planet Zru, sits on the floor in front of them, crossing her twig-like legs. Her eyes are huge, taking up a good portion of her face, while her mouth is small and her ears smaller, almost holes in the side of her head. She grins at the pair of them, looking like a youngling even though she is older than both of them by at least thirty years.

“I know this celebration is warranted.” She blinks, pupils dilating to even rounder portions. “But surely, Lance, you saw the fleeing cruiser.”

Lance sobers fast, though it isn’t because he’s angry. He’s just bemused that she’d noticed, considering her position during battle is the center control room, where all she should see is blinking lights and nodules.

“I saw it.” Lance nods, leaning closer, knowing that Lotor listens through his drunken haze. “I always see it. But only after the final blow.”

Sim'rasi tilts her head, “What do you think it means?”

Lance shrugs, “I think it’s a snitch. A camouflaged soldier that watches but doesn’t fight, only there to bring back news if all their comrades wind up dead.”

“You don’t worry about this?”

Lotor speaks before Lance can, resting a touch on Lance’s inner elbow. Whether it’s to balance himself or stop Lance from getting too caught up in his conspiracies, he doesn’t know. “Lance is my first mate, Sim. Do you trust him?”

She nods immediately, “Always, captain.”

“And do you trust me?”

She places a fist over her chest, though Lance knows her heart is closer to the bottom of her thin stomach. “Always.”

Lotor nods and leans back, “Then you have nothing to fear, darling. We’ve been watching this rat of the Alliance for many battles. Nothing will come of it, other than the spread of our name across their coalition.”

Sim'rasi looks between the two of them, intelligent gaze studying. But Lance can see that she believes Lotor and that she trusts Lance, that she is just as loyal as the rest of their crew. Grinning, Lance stretches an arm to ruffle her hair, though there isn’t much to ruffle in the first place. More like moss, the feeling of it beneath his palm is incredibly soft and dense.

Though when she leaves and he turns back to Lotor, he catches the captain’s eye and holds it for a few tense seconds.

They hate lying to their family.

But sometimes, especially in this case, it is necessary.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lance showers after everyone else has gone to bed or simply passed out, their snores echoing around the main living quarters of the ship. The shower room lights are a dull glowing blue against his skin, reflecting off of trailing water sliding along his body. He raises a hand and pushes his hair back in a repeated motion, letting the warm water fall across his face. Outside, when he opens his eyes, he can see the stars. He’s the only one who really likes to use this stall, considering the view.

 _One day yer’ gonna look out and see an enemy fleet staring you down, all naked like that._ Ozaak has told him on occasion.

But Lance doesn’t care. He likes to pretend, in the smallest moments, that he is back on his home planet.  Not the city, with its hellish alleys and constant violence. But somewhere calmer, somewhere peaceful, like the ocean waves he used to watch on the television as a child. Looking at a pasting supercluster, he supposes this is second best to something like that.

For the umpteenth time that night, he thinks of the soldier that got away. It isn’t the first time and he’s sure it won’t be the last. Lotor is right when he calls the soldier a rat, a sneaky coward that remains just out of sight so that it can get what it wants. For too long, the bastard has been at Lance’s heels. For too long, they’ve seen the battles and returned information they shouldn’t have, always hacking into their comm lines, listening to their conversations and plans and personal conversations.

If only Sim'rasi knew the truth. If only Lance could tell her that someday, that rat just may be their downfall. For though the Empire is a dark force, one that Lotor only managed to escape from by the skin of his teeth, the Alliance is a cosmic phenomenon that is growing by the second. Their coalition has gained supporters across the galaxies, their message one of hope and light.

But Lance knows the outcome of their planet-side battles. He knows the dark secrets they keep, like leaving entire civilizations to fend for themselves once they’ve driven the Empire away. And because of that, they are no better than the Galra they wish to defeat.

Sighing, Lance turns the water off and lets himself stand completely still as the driers come on, warming his body. He knows that there is nothing he can do about the stealth soldier right now. But even as he makes his way to his room and passes the light coming from Lotor’s own sleeping quarters, the man no doubt wide awake with similar thoughts, he can’t shake the feeling that someday soon they will meet face to face.

And when they do, there will be blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think and if you'd like me to continue <3 I'm really excited about writing this story and I hope you give it a chance.


End file.
